


Pulp Fan-Fiction

by JJAster



Series: Henry Stole My Pen [1]
Category: Red White & Royal Blue - Casey McQuiston
Genre: Alex and Henry Dance, Brooklyn Brownstone, David is done, Domestic Fluff, Drabble, Drunk Dancing, Established Relationship, Fluff, Henry’s Englishness is Contagious, Law School, M/M, One Shot, Post-Canon, Pulp Fiction - Freeform, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, Youth Shelter, drunk messes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-14
Updated: 2020-07-14
Packaged: 2021-03-04 19:15:56
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,661
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25261459
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JJAster/pseuds/JJAster
Summary: Alex is smart sometimesDrunk sometimes and dumb oftenHenry is there always
Relationships: Alex Claremont-Diaz/Henry Fox-Mountchristen-Windsor
Series: Henry Stole My Pen [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1837291
Comments: 10
Kudos: 102
Collections: Henry Stole My Pen





	Pulp Fan-Fiction

**Author's Note:**

> Was jamming out to falloutboy’s Uma Thurman in the the locked/private comfort of my room and naturally decided to write this FirstPrince fanfic with a touch of Pulp Fiction.

Alex was smart…sometimes.

Lounging on an outrageously expensive yet undeniably comfy couch, with Henry’s hand-knit blanket bunched around his ankles, Alex was flipping through TV channels in his day-old boxers. He had almost given up on finding some entertainment worthwhile, when he came across a late night showing of Pulp Fiction. 

It was the scene where Vincent Vega and Mia Wallace are sipping milkshakes, the last scene before the iconic dance sequence. Alex ran to the windows and closed the blinds, making it back just in time. 

As he moved to the music with zero abandon, mimicking the characters on screen, Alex failed to hear the door to their Brooklyn Brownstone creaking open. For Alex was smart to close the blinds, but not quite smart enough to lock the door. 

When Henry walked in, greeted by the sight of his boyfriend, the first son of the United States of America, twisting and turning to the beat of a Quentin Tarantino movie, he was startled to say the least. It’d been months since they’d moved in together and he was still not used to coming home to an apartment overflowing with love, life and Alex Claremont-Diaz. 

After quickly petting David, he was still confused between being weirdly turned on and the need to bust a gut laughing. So the Young Prince decided to go with the latter. 

Henry’s undignified chortles blended beautifully with the rhythm—and if Alex’s Mexican heritage were to allow his skin to turn beet red, it would probably choose this moment to do so. A grunt escaped the democrat’s throat as he sank back down into the couch cushion, flipping his beloved the bird with one hand as the other dug into his unattended bowl of cheesy popcorn. 

Henry, somewhat apologetic, swallowed down his laughter and leaned in for his customary ‘Welcome Home Kiss,’ only to be rudely shoved off by his bitter lover. After a few more lean in’s and a few more shove offs, Henry’s jaw locked and his eyes narrowed. 

“Get off your high horse and meet me back on the ground, would you already? As if you wouldn’t have laughed just as much—possibly harder, definitely louder—if the roles were reversed.” Henry huffed angrily as he seated himself as far away on the couch as he could manage. It was a pretty big couch. So it was pretty far away. 

David barked at the increase in volume and pawed the bottom of Henry’s trousers, only to be ignored. 

“Laugh? I would never!” Alex retorted, a shadow of a smile threatening to tug his lips up at the thought of Henry dancing, but a scoff is what escaped him. 

“Lying is a sin, you utter twit!” 

“So is being gay and bumming a boy, but that doesn’t stop you, now does it?!” Alex supplied immediately, arguing over nothing being almost second nature to him.

It takes him a New York minute to realise what he had said. Henry’s mouth was hanging wide open and Alex’s eyes were bugged out of their sockets as he tried to take the words back.

“Did you just say ‘bumming’?” Henry asked with a very maniacally grin taking over his face.

“No I didn’t.” Alex yelled, deeply offended. Because no matter how outrageously British that word he used was, he was still an American, and being an American meant fighting your damn hardest, even if you knew you were wrong. 

“Yes, you most certainly did!” Henry spared between laughs. 

“No, I didn’t!”

“Yes, you did!”

“No! No! No! No!”

“Oh my god! You are unbelievable!” Henry said dissolving into a fit of laughter. Alex hit him across the head with a throw pillow, demanding that he shut up, while both of them spat profanities. 

By this point, David had stopped his barking and had walked away. If dogs could roll their eyes, he would, all the time.

—one week later—

Alex was slightly, maybe completely, hammered.

He’d been out drinking with a few kids from law school. All of them a bit too eager with questions after he was a couple shots in. He left the second he heard one of them say, ‘powder princess.’ 

“Nosy assholes,” Alex grunted as he wobbled out of the bar, earning curious glances from the crowd around him. 

Alex just wanted to make some friends. 

At the start of the night he had sent his PPOs back home, making bold claims of drinking till dawn—or last call, whichever came first.

It all seemed so foolish now. 

It was only midnight. Henry would’ve waited up for Alex on a regular school night, but had probably hit the the hay early today. Alex has half a mind to wander around the city for a couple hours and come back home to Henry with a carefully concocted story of the night’s adventures—but that was not their relationship. 

That said, he did selfishly hope that Henry was still awake, for his needy sake. 

Alex tipped his baseball cap down, hiding his face as he hailed a ride. Then over the phone, Nora makes sure Alex stays awake during the cab back to the Brownstone, and Alex smiles gratefully for the handful of friends he did have. 

As he stumbled up the stairs, he felt himself getting less drunk and he wasn’t sure if that’s what he needed right now. 

As he predicted, when Alex walked in, he was welcomed by a unlit home. A tired sigh escaped his lips as he set down his bag and stripped out of his coat. 

But then Alex heard music. It was soft, but it was there.

His eyes followed the sound and found the television booming with the music, “You Never Can Tell” by Chuck Berry. On the screen were John Travolta and Uma Thurman twisting sensuously to the beat. And dimly lit in front of the television was his Henry, taking hesitant steps with his two left feet and shaking his hips in a makeshift twist. 

It was the most adorable thing Alex had ever seen. 

Alex must have unconsciously sighed out some form of adoration because suddenly Henry froze in his steps and slowly turned to the door, grimacing when he found who he was looking for.

“Don’t laugh.”

“I’m not laughing.”

“I mean, it’s okay if you do…I laughed at you.”

“You laughed at me in my boxers, covered in cheesy dust and a pencil in my hair, shimming my behind to a movie on a Friday night. I’m looking at my boyfriend in dress pants, a blazer and a bolo tie? Trying to learn the steps to a song in full costume. So, I’ll laugh after I stop feeling like the luckiest man alive.” Alex said with a fond smile as Henry turned red till the tip of his ears. 

“It wasn’t that big a deal, you already had a bolo tie in your drawer.” Henry replied lamely as Alex laughed and crossed the room to reach him. “I briefly considered going out and buying a black wig, but figured you would definitely laugh at that.” Henry mumbled as Alex crossed his arms over his lover’s shoulders, gently playing with the tufts of princely blonde hair between his fingers.

“I wouldn’t have laughed.”

“Yes, you would’ve.”

“Yes, I would’ve.” Alex admitted with mirth in his eyes, as Henry placed his hands on Alex’s hips. 

They swayed back and forth, nuzzling their cheeks. ‘This he could do,’ Henry thought, as the TV’s noise got lost in the background. 

“Bar night didn’t go so well?” Henry asked in a whisper. Alex’s harsh swallow being all the answer he needed before he tightened his arms around Alex’s waist. Alex in turn buried his head in the crook of Henry’s neck. 

Whether they were still dancing was hard to tell. 

“Hey,” Henry said all of a sudden and Alex moved to look him in the eyes, “Do you remember that girl, who walked into the Youth Shelter a month ago?” 

“Maya?” Alex asked, remembering the night Henry came home with tear stains covering his favourite blue shirt. 

“Yeah, Maya.” Henry nodded fondly, “Her two aunts came in today. They hadn’t seen her since she was a baby and didn't know what had happened. They’re going to take her in, all the paperwork will be signed and done by tomorrow.”

“Holy shit! Love, that’s amazing!” Alex exclaimed.

“Yes, it is,” Henry laughed hugging Alex back. “So, you remember that old bottle of scotch Ellen had gifted for our housewarming?”

“The one we were saving for a special occasion?”

“The very one. I was thinking we could open it right now…have a…bar night?” Henry asked sheepishly,

Alex grinned and caught Henry’s bottom lip between his, kissing him raw. The slow push and pull between the two lips was a dance of their own. A few minutes later, when the two separated for air, Alex breathed out, “That sounds perfect.”

So that’s what they did. They both chugged down scotch by the bottle, passing it back and forth between themselves, till the bottle was bone dry. They laughed the night away as Henry demonstrated what little he had picked up from his week of self-taught dance lessons. Just as drunk and in love as their first night in Paris, what seemed like ages ago, two messes grabbing onto each other as the rest of the world dazed around them.

As the end credits of Pulp Fiction rolled, Alex and Henry slept tangled in each other on the very couch this all had started.

David left the comfort of his ridiculously expensive dog bed and strutted across the room, hopping onto the couch. He nestled himself in the little space at the end of the couch, gingerly resting his head on one of their feet. And soon, three sets of soft snores were heard from their Brooklyn home. A haven in the midst of a world of chaos.


End file.
